Dallas Winston in a Christmas Carol
by The Writing Wizard
Summary: A Christmas fic!
1. Chapter 1

Dallas Winston in a Christmas Carol

Our story begins in the city of Tulsa, Oklahoma in the mid 1960's in the Curtis's living room. In the 1960's, there was a rivalry between two classes. The poorer people were known as Greasers; the rich were Socs. Well, that's what Greasers called them. Socs was short for "Socials." They were the ones who drove nice cars, like mustangs.

But just because Greasers were poor didn't mean they weren't nice or smart. In fact, one fourteen year old boy named Ponyboy Curtis was real smart and real nice. His brother, Sodapop, just had to grin and everyone would smile right back. He dropped out of school to help support his family. Plus, he hated school. But he mostly did itto help out. Darrel Curtis, who went by Darry, gave up his dreams of going to college just to take care of his two younger brothers when their parents died.

There was also Keith "Two-Bit" Matthews who could make anyone laugh, whether they were a Socs or a Greaser. Johnny Cade, who the gang nicknamed Johnnycakes, was beaten senseless by his father every day and ignored by his mother. He'd often spend the night in the empty lot across the street from the Curtis's house. He was scared of nearly everything. But Ponyboy and him helped each other out. They understood one another. Johnny was a friend to everyone in their gang.

Steve Randle was Sodapop's best buddy. His dad kicked him out of the house at least once a week. Then he'd give Steve five bucks and they'd forget about it until he was kicked out again. Still, he often slipped his paycheck from his job at the DX into Darry or Soda's wallet. He called it paying rent but he knew for a fact that the couch in the Curtis's living room was always open for him.

Now, back to the living room. Steve, Sodapop, and Two-Bit were playing a game of poker. Sodapop was working on getting the hidden ace out of his shoe. Steve was kicking his leg whenever he saw him reach down. Two-Bit was taking small sips of his beer. Johnny and Ponyboy were sitting on the carpet next to the small Christmas tree. The tree had small ornaments on it from the Curtis's basement. Their mother had an entire box full. Ponyboy was pointing out his favorites. Johnnycakes was pointing out his.

The gang was missing one person. Can you guess who that was? That's right. The main character of this story. The legendary Dallas Winston.

Dallas Winston slammed his beer down on the counter. A fat man with a cowboy hat on came over by the bar.

"Give me another," Dally ordered. The cowboy, Buck, complied. He refilled his glass. Dallas gulped it down. Drops of the brown liquid slid down his sweaty neck.

"Another."

Then another.

Another.

And another.

Finally he was there. That one place where you're aware of what you're doing but to drunk to really stop it. All you wanted to do was have fun and forget. That's where Dallas was now.

He started hanging around with a brunette. She was a real looker. She allowed Dal to run his hands up and down her body. He was feeling good.

That is, until some drunk man next to him starting singing the famous "Jingle Bells." Yeah, that put a downer on Dally's mood real quick. One thing everyone, and I mean everyone, knew about Dallas Winston was that he hated Christmas.

I know what you may be thinking. How can anyone hate Christmas? Well, Dally just did. There wasn't really any reason. Or was there?

No one could really tell you. Dally didn't let anyone get to close to him. He always told people they better wise up; if they wised up they wouldn't get hurt. That was the way Dallas lived life. At least, that's how he did. Who knows how he used to be? Who knows how he'd be in the future?

Dally muttered a "goodbye" to the girl he was dancing with and left the bar. He walked up the stairs into his room. Buck allowed him to rent a place. He was one of Buck's best riders at the rodeo. Dally won them fair and square. That was probably the only thing he didn't cheat at.

Walking into his room, he stripped off his shirt. Then his jeans, leaving him in his undershorts. He threw them on the floor next to his dresser. It was early. Well, not early. It was a bit past midnight. But it was early by Dallas Winston standards.

Dally happened to glance in the mirror on his way to his bed. He didn't make it to bed because, there, in the mirror was a face. And not just any face. No. It was Tim Shepard's.

Dallas figured he had had just a bit too much to drink or maybe Buck slipped something in his beer. It wouldn't be the first time Buck had done that to him. Because, well c'mon, this was Tim Shepard he was seeing.

Tim Shepard, the guy that was killed a few years before. He was shot down by the cops after he held up a gas station. Dallas thought it was a stupid way to die. Still, he went to the funeral. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, they were friends.

The figure moved and Dallas could see the rest of the body. Except for his hands. They were held behind his back. Dally didn't know why.

"Tim?" He asked. He knew it wasn't really. It couldn't be. But whatever Buck slipped into his drink was allowing him to see him again. He wasn't going to let that opportunity go to waste. It must have been something in his drink. Ghosts weren't real.

"Hey, Dal." Dallas didn't like to admit it, but he jumped. It was Tim's voice. His real voice.

"What're you doing here?" Dally asked.

"Came to change you." Dallas was confused. Tim had begun to move around the room. His arms still stayed to his sides and his hands were behind him.

"What?"

Tim sighed.

"You need to change. When I was alive I was stupid. I didn't care about anyone. I didn't give a shit. Now I regret it. You will too if you don't change." Dallas wanted to laugh. This couldn't be Tim. Tim didn't regret anything. He just lived.

Instead Dally said, "I'm gonna kill Buck."

Tim laughed. "Same old Dallas Winston." Then his face grew serious. "I'm not kidding. You need to change, man. My life's screwed up now. Yours can be different."

"How's your life screwed? You're dead, Tim. Dead."

Tim turned around so Dallas could see. No wonder Tim's hands were behind his back. They were in handcuffs. Dallas easily recognized them. He, too, had worn the silver restraints. He could break out of them, too.

As if Tim knew what Dally was thinking he chuckled darkly. "No, Dal. These kind of cuffs can't be broken out of. If you have them you're stuck with them. Forever. And believe me, that's a long time."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Tim sat down on Dallas's bed. Dally refused to sit.

"After I died I woke up again. I was wearing these handcuffs. They don't go away, Dal. I swear they don't. I've tried everything. I didn't live my life. I didn't care. I didn't give…and I regret it every single day that I walk around. If you don't change your ways then you'll be just like me. You won't be able to stay in one place. You'll be stuck in these handcuffs. You need to change."

Dally just shook his head.

"Beer must be getting to me," he mumbled to himself.

Tim was up right in his face. "Dallas Winston, listen to me. Three spirits, and yes spirits, they're real, will visit you. They'll show you what life's really like; how you're meant to live."

Dallas just stared at Tim. Until he realized that he was gone.

"Goodbye, Dal," a voice whispered.

Dally just laid down in bed, right where his friend just was. He closed his eyes because it didn't seem so early anymore. But before falling asleep he asked a question out loud.

"What the hell did Buck put in that beer?"

So...it's a Christmas fic! In case you didn't realize, this will be a rewrite of the classic A Christmas Carol (which I do not own.) with the characters of The Outsiders (which I also do not own.) So anyway, enjoy and please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Dallas Winston in a Christmas Carol

Chapter Two

Dally didn't know what woke him up. All he knew was that he was awake. He rubbed his eyes and slowly sat up. After glancing around, he rubbed his eyes again, more frantically this time. He was just tired. There was not a little girl standing at the side of his bed. There was no way.

After a few more moments, the girl still didn't disappear. Dally couldn't stand it anymore.

"Who the hell are you?" he muttered.

There was a beer on the small table to the side. He grabbed it and took a swig. The alcohol burned his throat.

The girl blinked; her blue eyes shining bright. "I am the ghost of Christmas Past."

Dallas almost spit out his beer. Buck had really outdone himself; going as far as to pay a little girl to pretend to be a spirit.

Dallas barked out a laugh. "And I'm Elvis Presley."

The girl was strange looking. She had long brown hair. It fell down her shoulders. She couldn't have been more than twelve years old. She wore a blue dress. It matched her eyes.

"Your friend, Timothy Shepard, visited you. He told you that three spirits, myself included, would be seeing you."

It was strange, hearing the name Timothy. To Dally, it was always Tim. Everyone called him Tim. Some just addressed him by his last name; but never Timothy.

"Yeah," Dally said. He couldn't believe this was happening. Either Buck hired a damn good actress or whatever he had slipped in his drink was still plundering through his system.

Her eyes were a deep color. They looked older; unlike the rest of the girl's face. Maybe it was the small specks of gray. Maybe it was because when Dally looked into them he found he could only hold her gaze for a short moment. They looked scarred; maybe not physically, but emotionally. In all honesty, they reminded Dally of Johnny's.

"I'm here to show you your past," the girl said. A bright light started glowing. The room started to brighten. Dallas was confused. He hadn't turned on any lights. But, after glancing at the child, he saw what was happening. The girl had a light around her. It looked like it was floating around her. Dally didn't know how to explain it. It looked like powerful; yet weak at the same time. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural. That much Dallas knew for sure.

"Take my hand." Dallas glanced back at the girl's face. They locked eyes; hers were so dark; yet bright; before he dropped his gaze. She extended her hand. It was small, just like a child's. Dallas slowly touched her fingers. They were cold. Really cold. He quickly withdrew his hand.

Dally's surroundings began to fade into a blur. The colors combined until they faded into a grey. He heard yelling, laughter, music. He was thankful that he didn't hear any of that blasted Christmas music. He would rather listen to Hank Williams than that stuff.

"Are you ready to return to your past?" the girl asked.

Dallas swallowed. This can't be real. "Hell no."

XxX

Loud sirens went off in the distance. Red and blue lights flashed off the skyscrapers. The tall buildings cast shadows across the lonely alleyways. Dallas knew where he was immediately.

"New York," he breathed. The girl nodded.

"We're in New York," he repeated.

"We are."

"We're in fucking New York."

The girl didn't seem bothered by his curse. "Yes."

He couldn't be in New York. He lived in Tulsa. He left New York when he was young and hadn't been back since.

The girl's cold hands gripped his forearm.

"Come," she ordered. Dallas shook her hands off but found himself following her.

They started walking down the streets. Cars drove by but no one seemed to notice them. Dally caught glimpses of Christmas trees in the windows. Lights were strung across various things. They lit up the street.

Time seemed to fly by. He didn't understand what was happening until he felt very dizzy. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. When he reopened them, he found himself in front of a house; a very familiar house.

"No."

The girl tugged on his arm again.

"Yes."

"No."

"You must."

Before he knew it he was inside. It was exactly the same way he remembered it. The white paint was peeling. The entire house reeked of alcohol. It was bitter cold. Dallas found himself shivering. The girl didn't seem to notice the temperature.

A familiar voice began to yell.

Dallas found himself taking a deep breath.

The girl's freezing hands gripped his arm again and pulled him through the house. The rest of the house wasn't in much better condition. The paint was still peeling. The TV in the corner had black and white static covering the screen. Beer bottles littered the floor.

A little boy was backed up against the wall. His blue eyes were so wide and full of fear. His hair was a really light shade of blonde; almost white. His left eye was black. His cheek was a mixture of blue and purple. The kid couldn't have been more than ten.

Dally could tell that he was skinny. The torn shirt hung loosely on the little boy. Dally could see his shoulders. They were both covered in the ugly bruises.

"Show me some respect, boy!" the man yelled. His words were slurred. He held a brown bottle in his hand and took a swig of it. The boy shrunk back in fear.

"Get me the hell out of here," Dallas ordered.

"Not yet," the girl said.

"She's gone! Get that in your damn head! Your mom's gone! She's gone!" the man yelled at his son. The boy had tears in his eyes.

"Don't you dare cry! Don't. You. Dare."

A single tear spilled out of the boy's good eye.

Dallas shut his eyes as he heard the sound of skin colliding. When he opened them, the boy's right cheek, the unbruised one, was bright red.

"Take me out of here!" Dally shouted.

The girl nodded and the pair disappeared, leaving the little boy to mourn his mother's death alone on Christmas Eve.

XxX

Dallas recognized the next location before he even read the sign. The gray brick building was the same. Still dark and lonely.

They walked through the door. A Christmas tree sat in the corner. The officers didn't seem to notice. Dallas wondered if they could see them.

As if reading his thoughts, the girl said, "They can't see us when you're with me."

Dally simply nodded.

The girl led him through a hallway, although there was no need. Dallas knew where he was going. They passed many cells. Most held men over the age of twenty. Not the last one.

A little boy, with bleach blonde hair and blue eyes, sat on the small bench. His eyes were bright red but no tears were leaking.

"You get tough and you don't get hurt," he whispered to himself. The boy sniffed. He was done crying.

The girl took Dally's arm again. He didn't try and move it. He just stared at the child. The girl started dragging him away from the cell.

Dally didn't need to be there to know the boy's next words. He knew them.

"Merry fucking Christmas to me."

XxX

"Get me out of here," Dallas told the girl. He didn't want to be there anymore.

The girl nodded.

The light began to grow larger and larger.

New York's bright lights blurred together until the skyscrapers disappeared.

XxX

Dallas jolted awake. His body was drenched in cold sweat. He grabbed the beer bottle on the side of the bed. It was still half way full. Dally swirled the liquid around and stared at it.

Then, he chucked it at the wall. It shattered into hundreds of pieces.

Dallas placed his head in his hands.

"Shit."


	3. Chapter 3

Dallas Winston in a Christmas Carol

Chapter Three

Dallas fell back asleep shortly after he woke up, only to wake up again. He remembered the dream about New York. He remembered the little boy. He remembered everything. Memories plagued his mind.

He caught a glimpse of the pieces of glass scattered across the floor and sighed. He didn't understand why he didn't drink the beer. He normally did.

He heard a loud voice coming from across the hall. It wasn't anything new. Many people rented rooms for the night at Buck's. Still, Dally felt like there was something off about this. He slowly eased himself out of bed and rubbed his aching temples. His head was hurting something fierce. He'd have to grab some aspirins from Ponyboy. The kid always carried some with him.

When he walked out in the hallway he had to stop and lean against the wall. A man; a very large man; was sitting on a chair outside Dally's door. Dally knew what he was. He wasn't just a man. He was another spirit. Dallas was hoping it had all been a dream; Tim Shepard, the little girl, New York; all of it. He thought it might have been too much alcohol or he was coming down with something. He never imagined spirits.

But just because they were real didn't mean he had to listen to them.

The man stood up. He was tall; at least seven feet tall. He towered over Dallas. He had black hair and gray eyes that pierced Dally's blue ones. A handgun was in his lap but he made no move to use it against Dallas.

"Dallas Winston," he greeted.

Dally grunted.

"I've heard a lot about you."

He grunted again.

"I'm the ghost of the present day."

Another grunt.

The man sighed. "Touch the gun."

Dallas wasn't planning on touching that gun. As if reading his thoughts, the man said, "I know you may not want to touch the gun, Dallas, but believe me, it would be better if you did."

Dally slowly touched the gun and once again the colors blurred and the room span until it vanished.

XxX

Dallas had never been inside Johnny Cade's house. Sure, he had walked with the kid to the front, but never inside. He had a feeling Johnny was embarrassed. Dally wasn't sure why, though. He definitely wasn't living like a Soc either.

The house was filthy. Dust covered the countertops. Beer bottles were piled on the floor. The carpets were stained. Dally didn't even want to know what it was. Some of them were a dark red. Possibly blood...

Johnny Cade was lying on a small mattress in the corner of his bedroom. He had his door shut tight. A torn blanket hardly covered his body. Dallas could see even more red stains on the carpet. There were even some on the kid's t-shirt. It was no secret that Johnny was beaten. The entire gang knew. He often came over to the Curtis's after his dad hit him. They'd patch him up and try and cheer him up. They felt like they'd won the lottery if they got a small smile out of it afterwards. But they didn't realize it was this bad.

Dally didn't realize it was this bad.

Someone yelled "Boy!" and Dallas saw Johnny jump. He slowly got off the mattress and walked to the door. Or rather, limped, as Dally noticed. Johnny was wincing with each step. He limped right past them and Dally and the man followed him into the living room.

Another man was standing up with the aid of the armrest of the couch. He was the spitting image of Johnny. He had the same skin; the same black hair; the same dark eyes. Except, his skin wasn't covered in bruises. His hair wasn't clean and soft. His eyes didn't remind people of a kicked puppy. No, Mr. Cade's eyes reminded Dally of a monster.

Johnny's dad didn't say anything; not a single word. He just slapped his son across the face. His right cheek was red now. Johnny didn't say a single word. He was used to it. Dallas blinked. He didn't want to see this.

Mr. Cade kept hitting his son. The punches poured on Johnny's already bruised body. He didn't yell out in pain; he simply grunted when he was hit harder. Mr. Cade started kicking Johnny in the ribs after he fell. Dallas couldn't believe it. How had he not known how bad it was?

Dally stepped in front of Johnny. He wasn't going to just sit there and watch the kid get beaten to a pulp. Mr. Cade's fist flew right through Dally. Johnny simply grunted.

Dallas glanced down at his body. Nothing was there. No bruise. No scratch. Nothing.

Then something happened that made Dally freeze. Johnny screamed.

It wasn't a long scream, Johnny managed to cut it off pretty quickly, but it was still a scream. It was a pain-filled scream.

Johnny's dad kept kicking; kept punching; and Dally watched. He couldn't do anything. Johnny's scream just repeated itself in his head.

Finally, after what felt like eternity, Mr. Cade backed off. He grabbed his beer and muttered something under his breath before stumbling out of the room. Johnny lay on the floor for a moment, catching his breath. After a minute, he slowly picked himself off the floor. His limp was even more noticeable now. Dally heard the boy's breath hitch every so often.

Johnny eventually made it back to his room. Dally noticed how he didn't even attempt to treat his injuries. He just lay down on the old mattress. His eyes held defeat and fear. Dallas wished he could do something to take that away. The kid pulled the blanket up around him. It still didn't cover his entire body.

"He's afraid." Dally jumped at the sound of the man's voice.

"He's afraid to live," the man said. Dally nodded.

The dark colors all turned into a blur and the small form on the mattress vanished. Johnny's scream rang through Dally's mind.

XxX

Johnny and Ponyboy sat in the lot. Dallas was confused for a moment. He had just seen Johnny sleeping. But then he noticed a bag of ice in his hand. He must have gone to the Curtis's after all.

The two boys were talking.

"I don't think I can do this anymore, Pony," Johnny said. Dallas sat down, keeping his distance. He snorted. It wasn't like they could actually see him. Still, Dally made no move to get closer.

"What do you mean?"

"I hate my life. I mean, I like the gang. You guys are family. But-but, golly, I don't know. I think I should just kill myself." Dally gave a start. He didn't know the kid felt like this.

Thankfully, Ponyboy was quick to jump in and tell him how much he meant to the gang. Those two had a strange connection. Everyone in the gang knew it.

Dally turned to the man. "Is he gonna be ok? I mean, he's going to live right?"

The man looked at the ground. "He won't take his own life, but, I don't see a Johnny Cade in the near future."

Dallas just looked at the ground. He didn't even notice the colors change. He didn't even realize he was back in his room. He just lay down and stared at the ceiling. Johnny's scream continued to ring through his mind.

XxX

Well...how was that? Reviews? It's almost Christmas! YAY!


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